


A Guy Has to be Honest With Himself: Or How TJ Found Out He Wasn't Okay

by AstronomerAlways



Category: Recess (Cartoon)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Horror, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Masochism, Self-Destruction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-06-07 11:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15218453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstronomerAlways/pseuds/AstronomerAlways
Summary: It's always the most normal looking ones with the most messed up issues. An Anthology.





	1. Derogate

If he thought back to it, the first time he felt this was had to be when he was 11.

His father had just bought him a new bike after he outgrew his old one, what with the series of growth spurts hitting him. Though it was a little too big for him at first, TJ wanted to ride it. Waiting a few weeks until he was tall enough to ride the thing comfortably just wasn't going to happen. So when he hit the pavement, it wasn't a surprise.

He scraped the palms of his hands, lower arms, and the side of his face, enough for them to bleed. The gravel getting inside his wounds didn't help of course. Walking back home, his mind was focused on the sting of the scrapes with every one of his movements. He wasn't a stranger to getting a cut or scrape, it came with being a kid, but this time was just a little different.

He had to clean himself up, probably with rubbing alcohol, too. That was going to burn. But some small part of him was fascinated with his injuries. The blood beading up and running down his skin, staining his clothes, the newly forming scabs that were going to ache for days, it as fascinating in a strange way. He brushed his thoughts away, figuring that he was more eager about patching himself up than the injures themselves, and left it alone.

ZZZ

It was only in middle school that he started to think, that maybe, just maybe, something was off about himself.

He had somehow found himself in a fight with another student. In hindsight, it was over something stupid that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but the other guy was hell bent on 'kicking his ass' as he put it. And he did.

TJ didn't give up without putting up a fight of his own. Bruised, aching, and bleeding, he kept getting up every time he was knocked down and what friends he had back then were yelling at him to stay down. He didn't know, though, why he kept getting up on shaky feet, insisting that the fight wasn't over. He had nothing to prove to this kid, and wasn't particularly upset over whatever caused the fight in the first place. The aching in his muscles and bones were familiar to him, however, reminding him of how those scrapes made him feel.

It had to be a hour after he got home that he finally cleaned himself up. In the meantime, he poked and prodded at his wounds, strangely enjoying the added pains he caused.

Was that like this, he asked himself as another fist landed on his jaw. He felt an abnormal 'creek' in his bones. He couldn't explain it to himself. Why would anyone enjoy pain of all things? God, was he even more of a freak than he's already been labelled in the hell that his middle school?

In the end, he was left defeated in the eyes of the student body, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

. . .

Being 13 years old, he was no stranger to self pleasure, as all 13 year old boys were. It was difficult for TJ to notice that it was, for lack of better words, better after instances like this. He pressed on his bruises and scratched at his cuts with his free hand, and it felt so damn amazing.

Of course, he had to take advantage of that.

. . .

His parents were worried.

After that, he got into fights increasingly often, until it was almost once a week. They didn't understand why. Their son, though a bit of a mischievous troublemaker, wasn't known for getting into fights. Now once a week they were getting calls from the school principal.

They tried everything to figure out what was going on with their son. Talking to him, "I'm fine mom/dad", grounding, which they didn't know he liked having extra time in his room, and therapy, "There was nothing I need to talk about". Nothing worked.

It was only when he was threatened with being expelled that the fights stopped. He had to think of something else.

ZZZ

Brand new razor.

He managed to get it out of the shaving razor. By now, he had a routine to get it out without damaging it. That was important. Before, the razor was left jagged, but now, it was perfectly new.

TJ started this new 'habit' (could it really be called that?) not long after that fight. He heard the group of kids in school labelled 'emos' talk about cutting themselves because the world was shit or something. He went to them, asking more about it, and they told him how to get his own.

The house was empty and quiet. His door was locked. His window blinds and shades were shut. His phone was on silent. It was only time like now that he could do this.

He wasn't stupid it about it, he thought. He kept tissues, cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, peroxide, and bandages fully stocked in a box under his bed. He told himself it was for his safety and hygiene to convince himself that it was not to hide the injuries.

He started on his shoulders. The least likely place anyone would look, he figured. Old, healed and currently healing cuts were already on his shoulders, and now more were going to be added.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Four bleeding cuts. He stopped, indulging in the pain that ached out to his arm.

It felt so damn good.

He moved to his stomach.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

. . . .

Fourteen. Fifteen.

He dropped his razor when the pain became to much for him to keep going. It hurt. It hurt so wonderfully good, as he covered he cuts with his hands and felt the blood trail between his fingers. He always got out of hand when it came to cutting his stomach, but he thought it was worth it.

Someone looking in would think he was mad for doing this to himself, and he understood why. He would be seen as sick, mental, unstable. But no one was looking in as he indulged in this sick form of pleasure, and he didn't need to worry.

ZZZ

Masochism

noun.

the tendency to derive pleasure, especially sexual gratification, from one's own pain or humiliation.

There wasn't another word that TJ found that described him and his 'habits'. He didn't think there was a word for it, and had long ago accepted that he was a freak. Some sort of sexual deviant that could only find enjoyment of sexual nature when it was paired with pain. Someone who would be found sick in the mind if he ever let someone like this slip, and accepted that it would be best if he stayed single and avoided the pain of being left because this thing was too much to cope with.

The more he looked into it, the more he found it described him.

ZZZ

It was amazing what people would do for money.

TJ found out that for 150 bucks, he could get a local gang to beat the living shit out of him. He found them on craiglist of all places. It took weeks of messaging back and forth to convince them that yes he was completely serious and that no, he wasnt going to call the police.

Just beat him up. Bare fists, brass knuckles, a baseball bat, anything they could get their hands on. Just don't kill him, were the only rules. How could he enjoy the pain if he was dead? Duh.

So they wailed on him, landing punch after punch, kick after kick to his face chest and back. For an hour, he was their personal punching bag. Whatever pent up anger they had was taken out on them.

By the time it was over, he was left with a black eye, bruises all over his arms and abdomen, a split lip, a gash over his left eye, a broken and bleeding nose, numerous bleeding cuts, and a loose tooth.

He limped home, in agonizing pain. When his parents saw him in this condition, they were reasonably worried. 'Worried' being an understatement. They brought him to the hospital to get his broken nose fixed,, among other things. When asked about what happened, he told them he was jumped by a local gang, which wasn't completely untrue.

He barely got any sleep that night. He was too busy playing with his injuries.

ZZZ

It became a regular thing. 150 bucks to get beaten within an inch of his life just to be able to get off. He had to get a part time job to pay for it, but it was worth it. He had gotten better and treating his own injuries before he got home to avoid suspicion. TJ was pretty sure he would make a pretty decent nurse at this point.

Having several bruises and healing cuts at any given time soon became the norm. He wasn't good with coming up with excuses for the rare person who asked about them at school, but that was just it. It was rare for another at school to ask. Very little people cared; he suppose it came with having no friends. He hated that at first, but it turned out to be a blessing in disguise.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's the details not given that are the most concerning.

Saving up for a car was a waste of money at this point in his life, in TJs opinion, at least. He preferred to use part of his paycheck in getting the ever loving shit beaten out of him, and how could he enjoy limping home in agonizing pain if he could just sit and drive? That's just no fun.

He rather limp home, leaving a trail of blood as it dripped from one the many cuts on his body, the pain in his right knee and ankle shooting through his leg and spine every time his weight shifted. Those guys did a number on him this time. Should've gave them a bonus.

Home was right up the street sadly enough. . .maybe he could make good use of those sewing needles he brought a while ago if he didn't lose consciousness first. Or tomorrow, these things always hurt more the day after.

"TJ?"

A glance over to his left and he saw Spinelli. That's right. . .they lived right across the street from each other, didn't they? Still.

He continued on his way.

"Woah, hey, what the hell happened to you?" She asked as she came up to him. "You look like you got hit by a car!"

With no energy to entertain her with an answer, he turned and started to cross the street. The short step down was enough to make his knees buckle, but he kept himself standing.

Goddamn reflexes.

"Do you need any help?" She asked. ". . .That's a dumb question."

She took his arm and lead him to her house. He blinked, though it was increasingly hard to see through his right eye with the area around it quickly swelling and throbbing with every heartbeat. His house was right there, but he needed to sit down.

Next time he needed to make it clear to limit the hits to his head next time. Being dizzy was garbage, and concussions were absolute trash.

"What the hell happened to him?" Vince asked from his seat on the couch. They were dating, weren't they? Hmm.

By now the cut on his right arm seeped through his clothes and now his fingers. That one had to be deep. Might have to stitch that one up. So he gripped it tighter, digging his nails into the sensitive flesh around it.

"I don't know! I found him walking around like this," she said. "Help me get him to the bathroom."

ZZZ

When he was 8, his grandfather gave him a pocket knife. It was an old thing, back from when he was a kid himself. Despite that, it was in considerably good shape, minus the layer of rust. But with no real use for it, TJ stored it in the back of his desk drawer and forgot about its existence for years until he cleaned that drawer out.

With a bit of effort he was not only able to remove the rust, but sharpen the blade, restoring it to it's former glory. The pathetic excuse for a knife was able to cut through anything with minimal effort.

That became his go to knife of choice when it came time for him to indulge in his favorite form of entertainment, soon replacing the blades her pried out of shaving razors. Those things rust so easily, it's a shame.

ZZZ

With the help of the A/C, he was aware of the cool wetness of his clothes, the blood soaked fabric clinging to his skin. He's gonna have to stop by the store to stock up on what he needed to get the stains out tomorrow, he was running low. While he's there he might as well get another bottle of rubbing alcohol; he was halfway through the bottle under his bed, anyways. . .

"So. . .what happened? You didn't actually get hit by a car, did you?" She asked. Or that's what it sounded like. The dried blood around his ears made it hard to hear.

The cut (cuts? Could be a gash, he needed a mirror to fully bask in his injuries) barely stung as she attempted to clean with a tissue dabbed in alcohol. Why even bother with that pathetic amount. . .if he couldn't feel it burn his inner exposed flesh then what's the point?

He opened and closed his hands into fists. By the feel of it, two or three of them were jammed (yes!), an index, pointer, on his left, and ring finger on his right. A splint can take care of that whenever he'll get bored of pulling on them and pushing them backward just to feel the bones creak and pop. Taking notes was going to be fun for a while, so a plus. . .

"Hello? Is anybody home?" Spinelli said. She waved her hand in front of his face. "You can at least talk to me if I'm cleaning you up. . ."

Goddamn the lights in this bathroom were bright. The blue tint to it made the room look almost clinical, but the person in front of them couldn't treat a wound for jack shit. What kept him in place was the need to sit and. . .that's about it really. He could've sat on the edge of the sidewalk for all he cared. Pulling away from her grasp took too much energy at that moment. He should be able to walk now.

"How's he looking?"

"I dunno. I think he's out of it 'cause he's not answering or looking at me," she said. "Maybe he really did get hit by a car."

"Should we take him to the hospital? He looks pretty bad."

That was his cue to leave. He had his own 'hospital', and he didn't need those doctors or their assessments. He stood on shaking legs and steadied himself before limping past the two of them. Which way was door again. . .?

"Do you think we should follow him?"

"Yeah, probably. Make sure he gets home, Vince."

He stumbled a few times, but stayed standing as he made his way out. He took a deep breath, soaking in the stabbing aches from the massive growing bruise on his stomach, and shook off the sleepiness to clear his head before he crossed the street hunched over.

ZZZ

There was something almost hypnotic about the perfect shine of a knife fully restored from neglect and a coat of rust. A days work and the right supplies, and it was easy enough to turn the ugliest knife into something that sliced through anything (anything!) with next to no pressure. You could use it as a mirror if you wanted to.

In hindsight, TJ supposed his parents concern that their 12 year old son picking up knife restoration and sharpening was understandable, especially with how easily he lost himself in restoring which ever neglected knives he found at a garage sale for 30 cents. And they were right to, whether or not they knew what he was doing with them.

Goddamn you could toss a tomato against the sharp end and it would slice in half like nothing, so it should be able to do the same thing with skin, right? Right! And it did and it cut cleanly and LEft No SCar wHen iT hEaleD But hiding them in his room for himself would be too suspicious so he ended up selling most of them at a flea market or when they have a garage sell or some shit. Made money but rather have kept them.

Then again the emerging masochism was enough without a collection like that. He probably shouldn't feed into that.

ZZZ

Damn keys, why'd they have to be so small and hard to turn? Leaning against the front door on his bruised left shoulder, he struggled to turn the key. His parents, out of town, weren't there to open the door (good. he was on a solid 2 year streak of them not knowing about this and wasn't about to break it), so it was just him and his jammed fingers.

"Here, you're not gonna get the door open like that."

The keys were taken out of his mangled fingers and the door finally opened. Finally home. Now he had to tackle the beast of climbing the stairs. Five steps up in and he had to stop, almost falling over if he didn't lean on the railing to catch his breath. The wood creaked under his weight as he struggled to stand up straight again.

His right arm was grabbed and slung over Vince's shoulder (was he still here?) as he helped him the stairs and into his room. He pulled away at the sight of his bed. Finally. Sitting, he was still slouch, struggling to stay awake

"So, uh, are you gonna be okay?"

The slight tremble from trying to stay awake was easily interpreted as a nod. Without a steady grip, entertaining himself with the collection of needles had to wait until tomorrow. Faintly, he heard the front door close as he laid down. Weakly, he kicked his shoes off, getting them fall to the floor with a thud that echoed through the room. He curled in on himself and dozed off.


	3. Incongruous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the irony

The sharp clincial smell that accompanied alcohol wipes wafted through the air in his room as he sat at his desk. The only light came from the small lamp her kept on his desk, humming.

It must've been weeks sinve he was able to indulge like this, with no interuptions. His phone, sat across the room on his dresser on set on no distractions, even the blinking green light aas away from him.

Truthfully he should keep it like that most of the time. People text him for answers with his problems like he didn't have anything better to do with his time. One wrong number and now everyone wanted answers. . .

The needles glimmered and shined under the light, highlighting its perfect cleanliness. Only a dozen this time. He probably wasn't going to use all of them; TJ found he never did most of the time.

He wiped down his pocket knife, paying special attention to the base, because God knows he didn't want to deal with another infection. It took him a month and a round of antibiotics to fight it off, and that wasn't something he wanted to deal with again.

ZZZ

573-9284: can i get some advice Alias

: that's what people decided this # is for

573-9284: what would u do if you knew your friend was using steriods

: snitch

573-9284: but theyll hate me

: then dont

: in all srsness if their life is in danger you should tell regardless. let them be mad, their safety is more important.

ZZZ

With gloved hands, he picked up the first needle and held one end to the underside of his right arm. It was one one his favorite spots, though one he was only safety allowed to toy with during fall an winter. the rest of the year he was stuck with his thighs and stomach to keep the scars of his self harm out of sight.

It's not like anyone would be looking anyways. How many times have he walked into school after a night of 150 dollars well spent with a black eye and bandages and the extent of the attention he received were curious glances? But he wasn't complaining. Not having to lie made life easier.

He pressed down slowly increasing the pressure until the needle broke through the skin, a single bead of blood coming to the surface. It slid just under the skin, its indent clearly visible on the surface moving along as he pressed, until the sharp end pierced through the skin again, breaching to the surface. Once sure that both ends sticking out of his flesh were even, he picked up the next one.

ZZZ

982-4465: alias ive got this boyfriend and hes super cute and i like him but he wants to have sex n i keep telling him im not ready but he keeps insisting that its the right time

: dump him. hes actual garbage

982-4465: [is typing. . .]

: if that next message is telling me you love him i dont want to hear it

982-4465: but i do! ive never loved someone this much before what if hes the one?

: then there would be no if.

: you shouldnt have sex a second before youre ready. youll regret it. Youll find someone better i promise

ZZZ

He watched with morbid fascination as his blood trickled down his arms and soaked into the paper towels that covered his desk. It wasn't much, ending as soon as it started, but of course it would. It was only a warm up after all. All five of them. He clenched his fist, feeling the metal rub against the underside of his flesh with the tensing of his muscles.

He paused to catch is breath. The house was still as silent as when he began. Good. He could continue without interruptions. He placed his arm on the table with the impaled side facing down, the pressure causing it to bleed more.

ZZZ

453-0014: Alias, i want to show my gf that I really care about her for her bday, but i dunno how. it tried giving her roses and chocolate on our anniversary, but she doesn't seem impressed. what should I do

: roses and chocolates are such standard gifts, they barely mean anything anymore. you should get her something more personal. what's she like

453-0014: shes the super dainty type. her room is filled with flower prints and frills. shes like the definition of girly

: i think ive seen who youre talking about

:okay what youre gonna do is get her flowers, but not roses. flowers have different meanings, try getting her some asters or lilies. or try a bottle of her favorite perfume.

453-0014: omg i cant believe i havent thought about that. thanks alias

: np

ZZZ

That little two inch pocket knife was sharpened to perfection. Cutting through skin went as smoothly as a surgical incision. That was a double edged sword, TJ came to find. It cut too easily, and one small attention slip and he'd be cutting into the muscle. He knew. It happened more than once, accidentally and on purpose, when he was in a curious mood.

Like the day after they went over the layers of skin in anatomy class. Epidermis, dermis, and subcutaneous tissue. The only few things he remembered from that class. He wasn't even planning on doing anything that evening except for homework, but the topic cued his curiosity, and since he had what he needed, why not play surgeon and cut just a little deeper and bleed a little more than normal.

But not tonight. No, instead, TJ decided that a collection of simple cuts on his forearm was plenty enough, though he got carried away and couldn't say exactly how many new cuts he had. Somewhere between 10 and 20, all bleeding and coloring his skin red as they burned and stung as the open air got to them.

A slice that deep would mean a visit to the ER and he didn't want to deal with the nurses and doctors. The last time he had to get through their patronizing talks about 'unhealthy habits for those his age'. No, those might have to wait until he's older and on his own health insurance.

ZZZ

228-1983: Ive never done this before. . .is this Alias?

: Yep.

228-1983: Oh, okay. I have this problem. I'm pretty sure I'm depressed and have been for a while and i'm on antis, but the only thing that makes me feel better is cutting myself, esp when im stressed. i know its bad but i dont know what to do about it

: You need to tell your parents. cutting yourself not healthy.

228-1983: but i dont want them to worry Alias

: theyre your parents its their job to worry about you.

: maybe your meds arent working bc they're the wrong kind for you, theres like a dozen and a half different kinds.

: theyll be relieved that you told them about this before you did something more dangerous

228-1983: im scared, Alias

: i imagine so.

: but I think you should tell them. They already know about the depression since youre on antis. they might not expect it but getting help for that is part of the whole treatment process.

ZZZ

With the bandages securely wrapped around his arms, and his skin throbbing from the cuts and cleaning, TJ slid the small toolbox back under his bed. He leaned back in his chair, scrolling through his phone. Now he was bored. But it was getting late, so going to bed would be okay, right?

Now that thins were over with, he was left a bit unsatisfied. He was hoping that the extra hour would solve his growing discontent with his activities as of late, but it didn't. He mulled over the idea of him being bored. Not with the self harm itself but with what he limited himself to.

It was safe, at least in his opinion, others might differ but they didn't have to know. But safe is all too often boring, as he was finding out now. Really, though, how could he shake things up, so to speak? There wasn't much left for him to cut up and stab, except his face.

Or neck.

He hummed, running his fingers over his throat, feeling his resting pulse under his fingertips.


	4. Chapter 4

ZZZ

With how much knowledge he taught himself about first aid and handling bleeding, TJ should've reminded himself that the vast majority of boys didn't have that sort of knowledge on hand.

The six of them were hanging out at the park on Saturday, like many others, playing a couple of games to have a good time. Gus, being the clutz he was, had fallen into a bush, getting a pretty deep cut on his forearm, along with being covered in thorns. but compared to the cuts he gave himself, that was easy enough to take care of. Making Gus calm down, was harder, though. The guy never did well with blood.

It didn't take long to stop the bleeding, just a few minutes and couple of well placed pressure points, and the bleeding was slowed to a barely noticeable trickle. There wasn't much he could do about the pain, but that wasn't his priority. That cut needed to be cleaned above all else. But it wasn't like he carried a first aid kit where ever he went. He needed to get home so his parents could take him to get that thing stitched up.

"How'd you learn to do that?" One of them asked. He couldn't remember which one it was, but he did remember how he almost exposed his new 'habit' on accident.

"I took a first aid class." He said. That was enough to keep them from asking anymore, thankfully. Besides, it was good that at least one of them knew how to handle injuries.

ZZZ

When he was younger, he hated how Becky used him as a guinea pig for trying out new makeup ideas and methods. What boy would like being forced by their teenage sister to sit and have eye junk on put on their eyes and lip junk put on their lips? But it wasn't all bad.

He learned that if he put on white eyeliner on her lower eyelid that it made your eyes look bigger, and therefore make him look cuter. And that was important! Because half the reason he was never taken to juvie was because he was short, chubby, freckled, funny looking, and cute. Adults ate that shit up.

He also learned that the right combination of foundation and concealer could cover up a black eye. That came in handy when he started picking fights for the thrill of having bruises and scrapes to poke and prod at. One too many black eyes and there would be CPS at their doorstep, and he didn't want to put his parents through the grief of that.

So he always kept both on hand, just in case.

ZZZ

It took longer than usual to move around normally after that particular night of getting voluntarily jumped. That one night when Spinelli just had to be taking out the trash as he was walking home. He forced himself to get up early to do some deep stretching to loosen his muscles and put on the makeup right to cover his black eye so he wouldn't raise any suspensions at school.

His bookbag felt twice as heavy, and he was easier to empty it at his locker when he finally arrived at school. As he opened his locker, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see who it was. Vince. In usual letterman jacket.

"Hey, uh, you okay?" He asked. "You were pretty banged up on Saturday."

"I'm fine," TJ said, turning back to his locker. "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem. Spinelli still thinks you got hit by a car," Vince tried to joke. This whole conversation was awkward, and they were only three sentences into it. "You look a lot better."

"Mmm."

"So what happened? It must've been pretty bad."

"It wasn't that bad," he mumbled. "I have to go to class."

He turned to start walking towards his first class, but feel his upper arm being grabbed. Not used to anyone at school touching him, TJ didn't expect it, and flinched as Vince's grip was right over a particularly deep cut he had to stitch up and was keeping an eye on for infection.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" Vince let go as soon as he flinched. He watched TJ or his reaction. Vince remembered how he looked a couple night ago; there was no way that he recovered that fast with the injures he had. Either he and Spinelli overreacted or TJ was just that good at hiding his injures. As far as he could tell, TJ was set on not letting him get close enough to see.

"It's fine," TJ said flatly. He rubbed a hand over where his grip was before walking away. "I'm going to be late."

Vince let the conversation end as he left. It wasn't like they had first period together, or any classes. They barely passed each other in the hallway, and when they did, they didn't acknowledge each other with so much as eye contact or a nod. So he had no idea what Spinelli expected when she told him to ask TJ if he was okay. A 'fine' was more of a response than he expected, though.

But he was right. Classes were starting in a minute, and he needed to get to his.

ZZZ


	5. Reminiscent

Despite it all, TJ wouldn't say it was a sexual thing. His therapist might say so, if he ever told him about his habit, but it wasn't. From beginning to end, the pain and blood by itself was more than enough. Maybe when he was younger he did a little exploring, but now? No use for it, none at all.

It wasn't even indicative of him having any unusual sexual interests. Granted he didn't have normal sexual interests, but he didn't have ANY at all. It wasn't an issue for him but it was an issue for the entire boys locker room when they talked about their girlfriends or who ever it was they were interested in, and he stayed quiet, as per usual.

God, they didn't pay him any attention any other time, why'd they have to then?

But he kept ignoring them, refusing to answer their questions, letting the rumors spread and die out on their own without his input.

ZZZ

As it turned out, if you were careful enough and knew what you were doing, you could have a lot of fun with your neck, as TJ learned. Avoiding the jugular was clearly a concern, but once you knew exactly where they were, it was easy enough to avoid it and the other major veins. With that knowledge in hand, he grabbed a box of pins, and holed himself in his room.

Four. Four was the magic number of needles that he was able to pierce through the skin on front of his neck. With every pulse he felt them move ever so slightly, but still staying in place. And hey, he was still alive, so he must've did it right. It was a lot easier than he thought it would be.

So he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and basking in the slight stinging sensation spreading out from his neck.

There were a bunch of things worse than this. It wasn't like he was choking himself with a belt. Or doing meth. He had control of this.

Once he had enough and the stinging stopped, he slowly pulled the pins out, and beads of blood came out of the tiny holes they left behind, pouring down his neck. Still, no major vein was pierced, and he was still very alive. Hell, the thrill of it made him feel more alive than he had in a while.

ZZZ

It wasn't like he was anti-social or anything, like those comments other students made when they thought he couldn't hear. Asocial would be a better word, in his opinion. He didn't care one way or another about whatever was happening socially at high school, whether it involved some rumor about him and his presumed sexuality.

Those rumors didn't seem to have any effect on how much attention he received from the female population, though he didn't know if he should consider that to be a good thing or a bad thing. He supposed he should be flattered, but it rarely left him anytime alone at lunch to be alone with his thoughts, plus he had to be extra careful about them not spotting his wounds. Guys might not have an eye for spotting that makeup is being worn, but girls sure as hell did.

Maybe he should be thankful. It made him at least appear normal to anyone looking, even though he didn't care for it. Even if they thought of him as a sort of challenge. It was well known that he never went out with any of the girls at school, let alone show any interest. He understood why, on a hormone driven teenager level, but the sooner they'd give up, the better.

At least it looked like he had friends.

ZZZ

378-3892: Alias? I'm worried about a friend

: over what

378-3892: Im worried that someone is hurting him but he wont talk to us

378-3892: we havent really talked in years

: then talk to him now? or tell an adult or whatever

378-3892: but he might still be mad at us

: you wont know unless you try


	6. Hindsight

They were staring at him. At lunch, during the rare class he had with on of them. Which ones were those, again? Science with Gus and Home Ec with Mikey. Which was a shame, because Home Ec was his favorite class of the year by far. Sure it was an easy A but he also learned how to sow, which then let him repair his hat that had been torn to pieces years prior and he kept putting off getting repaired.

But now he had to focus on figuring out what the FUCK Mikey was staring at him for. Instead of focusing on getting his different types of vegetable cutting done right. It'd be easier if the knives they used weren't this dull.

Whatever. At least they weren't trying to talk to him. He didn't think he had the energy to do that.

ZZZ

"Hey."

Considering that they were neighbors, TJ supposed it made sense that she would be the one to come up to him first. Or second if he was considering Vince, but that would require effort and he didn't feel like putting any of that towards this.

It was the end of the school day, he just wanted to get home and work on restoring an old knife he found as a garage sale. Fixing that thing up is gonna take like, a whole two days.

"Hey," He said back, before turning his attention back to getting what he need from his locker for the weekend.

"So, uh, what's going on?" She asked. "You got any plans for the weekend?"

"Homework, sleep," TJ said as he closed his locker. God, this wasn't going to turn into a whole conversation, was it? The sooner he got out of here, the better.

"I mean, duh, that's what everyone's doing. What about anything fun?" She asked.

He didn't like this.

He didn't like how casual she was trying to be about this conversation, or how she was examining his face for the injuries that she saw on him not too long ago. Whatever this was all about, he wasn't going to be a part of it.

"I've got my own plans," he said plainly. He walked away, not bothering to end the conversation properly or what the hell ever. But that didn't stop her; Spinelli just walked along side him.

"'Cause we're gonna have a horror movie marathon on Saturday and we were wondering if you wanted to join us?" She asked.

"No thanks." He tossed his backpack over his shoulder. "I'm going home. Don't follow me."

That seemed to do the trick, as he was able to walk home and be alone with his thoughts.

ZZZ

No matter how he looked at it, four needles in his neck seemed like the most he was able to use. This wasn't really a problem, though. Four was enough. It did the job. Besides, he wasn't going to risk it. He was a masochist but he wasn't a stupid masochist. The extent he went to disinfect his tools, skin, and wounds was proof enough of that.

As drops of blood beaded from his neck and dripped from the needles and down his neck, he grabbed his pocket knife, recently sharpened and ready to use. He paused for a moment, taking in how the light reflected and shined off it's surface as it was turned.

Topless, his top was already littered with cuts and dried streamed of blood from the beginning of this session. Now his attention turned to his. . .which was on was it going to be this time? His. . .left arm. The upper part first, so maybe what he'll do will be enough to call it a night.

One Two Three. . .Nine Ten

It wasn't enough, but really, it rarely was. So, as he normally did, Tj turned his underside of his arm over and started there.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn't have been so indulged that he didn't notice his phone vibrating or the knocks at the front door, or the steps coming up the stairs. But he didn't, and was only aware of their presence when they bust open his door.

A few of the screamed. He couldn't figure out who in his masochistic haze. Gus and Mikey always screamed like little bitches, but Gretchen and Spinelli were both girls, no matter how much the latter wanted to be a 6 foot tall bodybuilder named Moe, so it was tricky to tell who was screaming.

Honestly though? Did he care? No. About them barging into his room with no respect for his privacy, yeah, but about them being shocked at seeing him like this? They should be surprised at what they see when they bust down a door. If it didn't want to be open, there had to be a reason.

He closed his eyes and sighed. He hoped the doorway didn't need to be fixed.


	7. Presumptuous

ZZZ

Should they. . .say something?

It wasn't like they were friends or anything but when you find someone in as bad of a shape as TJ a few night ago, you had to say something, right?

Spinelli and Vince had plenty of questions, considering how he showed up to school without a mark on his face when they KNOW for a fact he had a gash on his forehead, a black eye, swelling over the other, and a bleeding lip, and that's just the injures they saw on his face.

But they didn't exactly know how to do that.

They asked Mikey, Gus, and Gretchen to keep an eye on him along with them, but they didn't find out anymore information then they already had. He was quit in class, opting out of group assignments in favor of doing them by himself, despite the occassional girl or girls sitting with him at lunch, he didnt appear to have any friends.

There wasn't much they could get from that. Maybe he crossed someone who wanted to beat the shit out of him. He did always used to fet in fights in middle school for some reason.

Going up to him and talking was all they had left, but he wasn't interested and barely said a full sentence to either of them before leaving.

ZZZ

The screaming only stopped when whoever was doing it ran out of air. Between the "what the fuck are you doing?!'s" and "what the fuck, what the FUCK?!'s", his pocket knife was snatched out of his hands, and his chair was pushed away from his desk.

When he was finally out of his haze, he noticed that two of them were trying to clean his cuts. Gretchen and Spinelli, while the other either stood or sat near by. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath to get his barring. Christ, how was he going to handle

"Hey, you back with us, man?" Vince asked him. He was trying to clean the cuts on his upper arm. "You, uh, did a number on yourself, huh?"

"It's fine."

"It's not fine!" Spinelli shouted. "Nothing about this is fine! Anyone who does. . .this!" She gestured at his cuts. "Is not fine!"

"It's fine."

"Stop saying that! You're not fine, TJ! Look at your arm! Look at your stomach!" She kept shouting. Good thing his parents weren't home to keep thing from getting worse. "What is that- are those needles in your neck?!"

The others moved to get a closer look, and cringed when they saw that he, in fact, had four needle piercing through the front of his neck. He had forgotten about those, actually. They needed to be removed before the blood dried and it became harder to pull them out.

So with his arm with unmarred skin, he reached up to pull them out.

"Ew, ew, you aren't going to pull them out are you?" Gus said. He cringed, wincing as TJ did just that, pulling out the needles one by one without so much as flinching. The five of them did enough flinching of their own to make up for it. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

"How can you just pull them out like that?" Vince asked. "Doesn't that hurt?"

"Not really." He looked at the needles, now in his hands, before dropping them in a waste bin. He never used the same needles twice; too much risk for infection. Speaking of, he needed to clean himself up, so pulled his arm away, and he grabbed the tool box under his bed, where he kept all his supplies.

The others didn't know whether to be relieved that he had so much medical stuff, or to be even more horrified at everything that's happening right now. They watched him clean the cuts with carefully, but with ease that only came doing it frequently.

"Do you. . .do this often?" Vince asked. "Because Spinelli's right. This isn't okay."

"Self harm is often a sign of depression. Are you depressed?"

He paused, giving them a confused look.

"You're always by yourself, and you don't seem to have any friends, or in any clubs or teams or anything. If you're depressed then we can help you, ya know? I know we haven't hung out in forever but you can talk to us if you're not doing okay."

. . .Were they serious? TJ looked at each of their expressions. Despite a few of them looking quite sick and disturbed at seeing him in this state, they clearly looked concerned as well. Ah.

He couldn't stop of few chuckles from escape, and that quickly became a nice, breath loosing, stomach holding laugh.

"That's presumptuous of you," said TJ. "I'm taking a shower. Do me a favor and be gone when I'm done, yeah? Thanks."

Finished with cleaning his wounds, he stood to walk to the attached bathroom to his bedroom, but was stopped when he felt one of them grab his good upper arm.

"What?"

"We're serious, man. We don't want you to hurt yourself."

"I know, and that's unfortunate." He pulled his arm away and continued to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. A hot shower was always nice after these sessions.

ZZZ

". . .Would someone like to explain to me what the FUCK we walked in on?"

"We walked in on TJ. In his room. Cutting up his arm with a knife."

"Jesus Christ he had needles in his neck!. Who does that?"

"Someone who is not mentally well, Gus. To say that this is concerning would be putting it extremely lightly."

"Did you notice how calm about us seeing that? Like he didn't care."

Then he's probably been doing it for a long time, especially if he had all that stuff under his bed."

"So what do we do? Do we tell someone or?"

"No, not yet. I think we should try approaching him. You know, try to talk to him first."

ZZZZ

By some miracle, they were gone by the time TJ finished his shower. He even double checked and looked downstairs, making sure they didn't just leave the room to let him get dressed in private. Nope, they were completely gone.

And now he has to worry about them knowing. It was probably going to come out one way or another but he'd rather it not come out in this particular way. In an ideal world they would convince themselves that it was some bizarre fever dream and leave it at that.

But TJ didn't live in the ideal world, and now they were watching him at school. e didn't have to look to know they were watching him whenever they were in the same hallway or in the lunch room. He was pretty good at keeping a neutral expression but goddamn was this testing him.

"I'm sorry, can you say that again?" he said to the particular girl that came up to him today. With this on his mind, he had little attention left to pay attention to anyone who would talk to him. But people talking to him didn't happen often so it was working out. Mostly.

"I was saying how the dance is coming up," she said. "And I was wondering if you had a date for it?"

"No."

"Um, would you like to go. . .with me?" She shyly asked.

"I'm sorry, but no. Don't take it personally, though. I'm not going at all, date or no date," he said. "You're sweet. But I'm not really into relationships."

"Oh. . .okay." He would've watched her turn and walk away if he didn't spot Vince out of a crowd down the hall, watching him.

Great.

ZZZ

"Hey, TJ, do you want to go to debate club with me?"

Out of all of them, TJ didn't expect Gretchen to be the one to approach him in such a blatant way. They had all of one class together and half the time he forgot about that. But he couldn't forgot today, because today was the day where she came over and sat at the empty desk next to his after the teacher let them work on their assignment. Most students got into groups, while he was one that opted to, as always.

"No thanks."

"I'm sure you'll like it, though. We debate a lot of topics for practice, I think you can really get into it, considering you used to do a lot of the same thing-"

"Gretchen."

"Yes?"

"I'm not going."

He turned his attention back to the textbook in front of him. This stupid assignment involved doing a bunch of equations, and his grades needed him to get through it, dyscalculia be damned.

But she still stayed next to him as he continued to make heads or tails of these problems. And TJ did his best to ignore her until the end of class. He was well on his way out the door until he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"We all just want you to know that we're here if you need anyone to talk to," she said.

"If you really want to help me then leave me alone," He said. "And tell the others to do the same and stop staring at me. I'd appreciate it." He adjusted his bag over his shoulder and left.

ZZZ

But that was to much to ask for, TJ found when he walked up to his house. Spinelli was sitting on his porch, waiting for him, because of course she would be.

He walked past her, not bothering to ask why she was there because he already knew why, but he wasn't going to feed into this. The sooner he was in his room, alone, the better.

"Hey Teej. You take History 401, right? you think you can help me out? I'm having trouble with this project-"

"You've gotten really bad at lying," he interrupted. "Either that or its the situation that makes it so blatantly obvious."

He continued past her, unlocking the front door and ready to leave her on the porch. just as he was closing the door, she pushed it open.

"Okay so maybe its really obvious, but im not lying," she said. "I really do need help with this history project and youre already taking the senior level class."

"Why do you know this?"

"C'mon, Teej! Help me out."

"No."

"Teej-"

"Stop calling me that and leave."

"Oh hello, Ashley!" Their conversation was interrupted when his mother walked into the front room to see what the commotion was about. "Its been a long time since I've seen you come over. TJ, aren't you going to let her in?"

". . .Yeah."

Spinelli smiled has he opened the door and she stepped inside, thankful for TJ's status as somewhat a mommas boy.

"What brings you over here, Ashley? I miss seeing you kids over here."

"I was hoping that TJ would help me with this project," Spinelli said.

They sat at the kitchen table, with their note and textbooks laid out and open. Spinelli was insistent on sitting right next to him, even though TJ wanted her on the opposite end of the round table. She explained her project, some 12 page essay on a social topic in whatever decade they wanted to pick.

"So I was thinking I'd do something in the 20s. You know, flappers, alcohol, world war 1 and all that," she explained.

"World War 1 ended in 1918," TJ said. He flipped through the pages of one of his old notebooks.

"See? You know a lot."

"It's basic history. Write your essay on Prohibition. There's a lot to work with." He pushed the notebook over to her to go over. "Can you leave now?"

"Hold on, I wanna read over this."

TJ settled in on getting through his math homework, doing his best to pretend that he was doing it alone. He wasn't even planning on indulging tonight; he wanted to get to bed early because being stared at gives him a migraine.

Spinelli was so full of bullshit, though. Mr. Morison didn't assign essays longer than 5 pages or cover the 20s.

He noticed the real reason she wanted to come over soon enough. Quick glances at his arms and neck for any signs of self harm. Those quick glaces became outright stares, and she only looked away when he look back at her. Too bad there was nothing to see. He never managed to get to his lower arm and the pin points on his neck were to small to see without getting close.

"Hey. . .Teej. Can we talk about last night?" She asked.

"No."

"We're all worried about you after seeing you doing that to yourself. What's going on? Are you okay? You can talk to us if somethings bothering you so much that you want to, you know, do that," Spinelli said. "Maybe you are depressed, we don't ever see you hang out with any friends or anywhere outside of school, which is weird because you used to be really social. You can get help for it, ya know? Cutting isn't a good way to cope."

He sighed, closing his books. "I'm going upstairs. Drop off my notebook when you're finished."

"Wait-"

"NO. I want to be left alone and I don't understand what you all don't get about that."

"Because you're not okay! Anyone who does what you were doing needs to get help."

His only response was a scoff before he went to his room.


	8. Interruptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't go looking for things you're not ready to see is good advice, mostly.

TJ knew he was being followed. He couldn't see or hear them, but he knew they were around, watching him.

The week was finally over an all he wanted to do was get home and take a nap, maybe get a start of one of the rusty knives he found at a garage sell. Not deal with all this bullshit.

He scratched his arms. It's been a while since he was able to take out his pocket knife. Who the hell knows if they were going to barge into his room again? He sighed. Approaching his house, it was a relief to see no one waiting for him to have a 'heart to heart' or some bullshit. He headed straight inside and to the kitchen to warm up some left over pizza before holing himself into his room.

Knowing them, running the rosk of cutting wasnt worth the still high chance of them "just popping in".

That didnt mean he was limited to his options, however.

ZZZ

They were all gathered in Spinellis room of all places. It must've been years since they were all together like this in any of their rooms, but recent events required them to come together and think of what to do.

A plan, as one might even say.

The irony of them making a plan to help the person who used to do that sort of thing was not lost on them. With Spinellis house being right across the street from the topic of their conversation, it made the most sense to go over there to think of what to do.

"We've tried talking to him, but he doesn't want anything to do with our help."

"Most people are adverse to those who've discovered something like this."

"So should we tell someone else who can handle this better? Like a counselor or something?"

"Or his parents?"

"His parents would be the smart choice, At least I think so."

Spinelli sat on her bed, half paying attention to the conversation, and half in her own thoughts as she looked at the house across the street. This was all still a lot to take in. Granted, they haven't been 'friends' for some time, but it was still upsetting to he the guy who used to be the glue that held their group together slice up his arm and brush it off, and that was putting it nicely.

He could push them away as much as he wanted, but that didn't mean that he didn't need help. And they were going to make sure he got it. What were friends for?

Speaking of, he saw the person of interest walk out of his house with a bag of trash in hand. Spinelli watched him do the mundane chore of taking out the garbage, unsure of what else she would expect him to do. TJ checked his phone, and appeared to send s message before walking down the street.

"Hey," she said, getting the others attention. "Where do you think he's going?"

The other came over and joined her at the window.

"I dunno. Do you think we should follow him?" Vince asked.

". . . yeah. Come on, Vince, Gus, Mikey, We're following him. Gretchen, get in your car, we'll call you to follow us."

ZZZ

The four of them followed TJ as he walked away from home, keeping a far enough distance to hide and stay out of his sight if he looked back. At first they were in familiar places, places they've all seen and couldn't say they didn't recognize, but as he continued walking, the buildings because abandoned and further apart.

For a few moments, they lost sight of him between the mix of worn out buildings and overgrown foliage. What was left of the streets came in patches, and they had to watch their step to keep from falling forward.

But then they heard voices, unfamiliar voices, and followed the sound until they reached an opening. What looked like a small gang stood in the opening, some smoking, chatting among themselves. And TJ. he stood with him like it was a normal thing. For all they knew, it could've been.

Until they saw one of them punch him square in the face. Then another, and another, until he was on the ground and kicks were added in.

They couldn't just stand back and watch, and the four of them jumped in, fighting the gang members off of him. It wasn't much of a fight, as they took off after a minute or two. They turned their attention back to TJ, who was struggling to get to his feet. Vince and Gus each grabbed one of his arms to help.

"Hey, are you okay, Teej?" Vince asked.

". . .I didn't need your help. . ."

"What?"

"I said I DIDN'T NEED YOUR HELP. I WAS FINE," he said, pulling out of their grasp.

"No offense, but those guys were beating the crap out of you," Spinelli said. "Why are you mad? We just helped you."

"Who said I wanted it?" He said under his breath. "Goddammit."

"C'mon, man. Let's head back," Vince said, helping him stay upright. TJ huffed, allowing himself to be lead away from the abandoned buildings. They led him to Gretchens car that she drove according to Spinelli's directions.

The climbed in, squeezed tights shoulder to shoulder as they headed back to Spinelli's place.

Goddamn, how was he going to explain this to those guys? They were already iffy on doing this from the beginning, and now this? They probably won't even give him a chance to explain things. Couldn't even pay his way out of this one. . .

They pulled him out of the car, not giving him a chance to turn and head back to his own place, instead, pulling him right into Spinelli's house and up the stairs to her room.

"God, you look like more of mess than the other night," she said, forcing him to sit on the bed. He doubted it. They had, at best, spent a minute beating him up. "What's the deal with those guys?"

"Yeah, do you owe them money or something?" Vince asked.

". . .this is stupid," TJ finally said. He stood up, no sign of dizziness or pain. He was fine, for all he cared about. Maybe a cut or two, he was numb to them at this point compared to his other injuries he imposes on himself on a regular basis. What a waste of a night. "I'm going home."

"Like hell you are!" Spinelli stood directly in his path, despite being more than a head shorter than him.

"Move, Spinelli."

"No! Not until you tell us what the hell is going on with you! Who were those guys and why were they beating the shit out of you?!"

"Because I paid them to, okay? Does that make you happy? I paid them to beat the shit out of me, because I wanted the shit beaten out of me tonight." He said, looking straight into her eyes. He knew he was going to regret this in the morning, but damn, he just wanted to be left alone and get to bed. This was a problem for the future him to deal with.

". . .what?"

"What? I told you why. Can I go, now?" TJ didn't wait for a response. He simply moved passed Spinelli and left the rest of them behind, speechless.


	9. Regretti

It wasn't like TJ liked keeping secrets. If anything, he hated it, what with keeping track of them and keeping them straight and minimizing how complex they could get. But in this particular case of self mutilation, keeping his secrets was a necessity.

But apparently, frustration was enough for him to let everything out. Goddammit, he just wanted a night to himself away from those guys but no, they had to follow and ruin everything.

The rest of the weekend was spent at home, ignoring any knocks at the front door, and the text messages and calls from his personal phone. The ones from his second phone, he didn't have a choice to ignore is texts as "Alias".

So he distracted himself by giving out advice to students who were too stupid to do the obvious thing. So many replies of 'give her this', 'tell him that', 'don't fucking cheat that's awful', and even one 'yeah maybe you should tell the police that your parents beat the shit out of you'. He hope that one turned out okay.

But Monday had to come, and he had to go to school and do his best ignore their stares and get to class.

He saw them at the corner of his eye, but he didn't give them any direct attention, and despite the staring, they didn't try to approach him. Walking home, he stopped at the drug store to pick up om more supplies and make sure that he wasn't being followed.

Maybe h could have some time to himself tonight? He was iffy on that. They might make their way in his house and find him enjoying himself again and they'll be on his case about it with the prodding and the questions. Such a hassle.

ZZZ

The others didn't know where to go from here.

Dealing with a gang that TJ owed money to, that would be easier than this. Easier than him getting off on being beaten within an inch of his life, apparently. Jesus tap dancing Christ, where do you even start with that one?

When did this even happen? They haven't hung out with him since middle school but they couldn't have missed that much, could they?

Spinelli sighed, and slouched in the bean bag chair in Gretchen's room. Her's was the biggest out of the five of them, she needed it for her experiments, so it was easier for them to gather at her place.

"It's called masochism," Gretchen said.

"Oh, good. There's a word for it," Gus said. "Anything else?"

"A masochist is a person who 'gets off' on being inflicted with pain. That would explain what we walked in on in his room and what happened the other night," she explained.

"Great. Now what do we do about it?" Vince asked. "Call me crazy but I don't think confronting him will work."

"Maybe we should tie him down and force him to spill," Spinelli said. "That helps me get the information I need."

"Nah. I don't think he'll be that afraid of you, Spinelli. What with us all being friends before," said Vince. "We're going to have to think of something else."

"The irony isn't lost on me that it's was usually TJ who came up with these plans," Gretchen said. "In any case, we should think of something quickly. Considering that we saw needles in his neck, he might do some serious bodily harm soon."

But none of them knew what to do. This was far outside their scope of things they knew how to deal with.

"Maybe we should try understanding," Mikey suggested.

"Understanding? The only thing to understand about what hes doing is that he needs to stop!" Spinelli shouted. "I don't want to understand anything about what hes doing to himself!"

"But think about it, Spinelli! After whats happened TJ probably thinks that we think that he's sick, and doesn't want any of us near him. If we show him that we're willing to understand this, then-"

"Then he would be more willing to open up to us and we'll be able to figure out the root of why hes hurting himself," Gretchen finished. "I think Mikey might have a point. We aren't getting anywhere the way we're going about things now."

"So what, we just go up to him and ask to watch him cut himself up?" Spinelli asked, with a roll of her eyes.

"Maybe. Do you have any better ideas?" Vince asked.

"I don't have the stomach for this," said Gus, already sounding sick from the mention of this. "If this is what we're thing with, then I'm out."

Since none of them had anything better offer, that was the plan they went with.

ZZZ

There was a part of TJ that wondered if the guy behind the counter at the dug store had any questions about why he always came in an brought rubbing alcohol and bandages on a regular basis. But an even bigger part of him didn't care, and that's the part he listened to.

On his way home, while eating some skittles, he got the feeling he was being followed. And given how correct this feeling has been so far, didn't second guess himself. But, he just wanted to get home. If they were just going to follow him, then he was going to ignore him.

He didn't want to deal with their questions and prodding about the night before. God, he knows just how well that conversation would go.

He didn't arrive home soon enough. Luckily, which ever ones of them were following him didn't knock on the door or keep him from closing the door, and he wasn't going to look behind him to check.


End file.
